


this was love, the wound that never healed

by 1derspark



Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: (Agron has some issues ya'll), Alpha Agron, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Miscommunication, Omega Nasir, Self-Hatred, Smut, mentions of mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 16:07:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29903628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1derspark/pseuds/1derspark
Summary: Agron took pride in his ability to cut ties. He’d wander from bed to bed as he did villages, tumbling with an omega or beta, without any lingering fondness in his heart the next morning. Duro teased him about it, this lack of attachment he seemed to have.For Agron, it didn’t matter. Who was some omega, to his brother, his mother, who were cut from blood and bone.Later, long after he and Duro had been captured, he cemented himself to this belief.Spartacus smelled of sorrow and rage. He rubbed at the bondmark on his neck from his mate without even thinking.And watching Crixus wail, tied up between the whipping posts with his back ripped raw Naevia’s anguished face in his neck as they embraced before the slaver was to take her, Agron was never more content with how his heart wandered and never landed.Doomed, his brothers were by love. He would never fall prey to it. Or to any omega.(Or the A/B/O Nagron AU)
Relationships: Agron/Nasir
Comments: 14
Kudos: 52





	this was love, the wound that never healed

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, well here we are eight years late to the Spartacus party with some A/B/O dynamics no one asked for. But I have not seen a lot of people do it for Nagron, and I thought I'd give it a shot. It's my first A/B/O fic like ever, so I beg for some lenience on my part, I only kind of know what I'm doing. 
> 
> Heads up there are some general references to some non-con elements regarding slavery, particularly against Nasir and the other omegas at the villa. But they're not explicit, pretty vague. 
> 
> This is unbetaed, so any grammar or weird stuff is all on me.
> 
> Enjoy!

Agron’s mother was an omega, and his father had been long dead by his tenth year, one of the many alphas lost to skirmishes with Romans that crept along their borders. She was left with two young sons and a death bond that would plague her all her life. Agron remembered the nights he’d watch her in her sleep with hand pressed to neck, teeth gritted against the pain of loss.

But his mother was tough, and so were her sons. She thought they would be alphas. Agron fought and tousled and bared his teeth at anything that moved too fast in line of vision, Duro usually quick to follow, but it didn’t matter to her.

East of the Rhine, everyone fought and died together when fighting time came. Omegas could tear the neck out of a man just as easily as an alpha could spear them. She’d done so herself.

She taught Agron and Duro to fight.

In Agron’s younger years they moved from village to village, fleeing the line of Romans to the south that shouldered their way up the mountains. 

Agron’s home was not a place, but the wide-open sky and the foot trails through the alpine forests, the hills bursting with grass in the spring. 

He and Duro knew the land well, they could traverse every path and rockway, they knew the ins and outs of every village. 

Years past his and Duro’s presentations as alphas they pledged themselves to war against Rome. The raids had become too frequent and too long had his people been snatched by slavers to be sold to the Republic.

He left his mother with a promise to take care of Duro. He could promise no more. They both knew where most of the fighting men went after setting off to battle, she bore the evidence of such every day. He would not reassure her with words of return. She did not expect it either.

She hugged her sons, wished them well in all their wanderings, her scent washing over them like the wind in autumn. Clean, and crisp, tinged with a lingering sadness. He knew she saw their father in their place, try as she may to hide it, the ache of a bondmate gone to ground never healed. 

Agron took pride in his ability to cut ties. He’d wander from bed to bed as he did villages, tumbling with an omega or beta, without any lingering fondness in his heart the next morning. Duro teased him about it, this lack of attachment he seemed to have. 

For Agron, it didn’t matter. Who was some omega, to his brother, his mother, who were cut from blood and bone. 

Later, long after he and Duro had been captured, he cemented himself to this belief.

Spartacus smelled of sorrow and rage. He rubbed at the bondmark on his neck from his mate without even thinking.

And watching Crixus wail, tied up between the whipping posts with his back ripped raw Naevia’s anguished face in his neck as they embraced before the slaver was to take her, Agron was never more content with how his heart wandered and never landed. 

Doomed, his brothers were by love. He would never fall prey to it. Or to any omega.

~

No, Agron was not willing to die for Naevia, and not for the fucking Gaul. 

It was strange to watch Crixus prowl the southern region below Capua, like some lingering shade not yet passed to the afterlife. He fought fiercer and hit harder, but it was a hollow kind of fight.

Agron didn’t care what Crixus did, as long as it didn’t land him in the fire for an omega that was probably long dead. 

(What Agron would not admit was that he didn’t care about his own actions much anymore. He followed Spartacus because it was the only thing he could do. Was he supposed to go home without his brother and tell his mother he let Duro fall? No, he’d smash as many fucking Roman faces as he could into rocks before he did that.)

They liberated their first villa with ease. The dominus was too stupid to hire better guards than the ones they found asleep on their feet. More than half the man’s slaves were omegas. The place stank of their fear.

The Romans, Agron learned, thought less than little of their omegas. Holes to fuck, to breed, to stay silent and adorned in the background of their villas in gem-colored silks smelling of roses and honey and overbearing perfume. It was strange to see a Roman omega so outspoken, anything other than a child-bearer. 

Even less so, for their omega slaves.

Agron should be used to it, the low ways of Romans. Batiatus put more stock in his alpha gladiators than he did his house slaves. He had an even mix of omegas and betas working in the villa. Most of the omegas belonged to Lucreita, thus Naevia and Crixus’ undoing. 

This dominus clearly favored his slaves more for fucking than for working, though Agron knew he’d work them to the bone with both.

Most of the omegas didn’t know what to do with themselves once freed. Long taught to keep their eyes on the ground, necks bared for any passing alpha to sample, lick, or taste. Their collars had that distinct leather covering, that hooked and slid open over where a mating mark would be placed. 

Many of their necks were scarred over in signs of repeated abuse. The forced bite of a master and a bond not willingly received.

The gods were cruel fucks, but he granted the omegas one small thing. A bond forced, could not be willingly received.

Still, Agron watched these omegas stagger about the courtyard staring glaze-eyed at Spartacus and wondered if it would not be kinder to kill them.

He did not think them warriors. Too far gone to be trained for battle. They were far from the omegas he remembered from home. His mother with her face stern, her forearms dotted with battle scars. The young ones who Agron danced with on a hot summer’s night, who fucked as fierce as they fought, their teeth bared, kissing their mates with blood in their mouths from a kill. 

But Spartacus would not kill them, he thought them useful. For what Agron did not know.

Agron would admit he paid the dark-haired one, whom Spartacus freed first, a lingering glance. He was beautiful, as no one would deny, but there was something in his eyes that kept Agron lingering for a moment before he disappeared for the night to eat or deal with Crixus’ fucking Gauls. 

Later, after Mira saved the Bringer of Rain from this omega who sneaked into Spartacus’ bedchamber with a knife and nothing left to lose, Agron knew then why this one caught his attention.

Crixus cracked the slave Tiberius across the cheek, and instead of crouching down, hiding his neck, cowering away, he bared his teeth back.

Agron understood well enough what slavery would do to a person. He knew how easy it was to break, and he knew the paths taken.

Some gave up, some went away into the darkness inside themselves not always to return. Some, like him, beat themselves and everyone around them bloody, until they could feel the life in their fingers again, though it was never enough. 

This omega, renamed himself Nasir with surefire conviction. Staring after Spartacus in the moonlight his face mixed in tentative hope, Agron could not say what he was, or the path he’d chose.

Nasir captured his interest in a way he did not understand, but recognized in others. A trap sprung upon hearts, to kill both bearers.

~

Agron decided then and there, with his sword in the Roman’s gut who spoke of Naevia’s continued suffering in the mines, that he would tell Crixus she was dead. 

He decided because Nasir was at his side, his hair cupping face in distracting silky strands. The wind picked up the edge of the omega’s scent, that Agron had pinned down something like sweet nuts roasting on a fire, the smell of smoke on the air, the tang of salt you could taste from the sea shore. 

It was foolish, how stricken he was, and it scared him in a way he wasn’t ready to look at. They were all followed Crixus in this endless charade looking for Naevia, who after being passed around from villa to villa then to the mines was probably dead on arrival anyway. Yet the man was so willing to go on, until he had her body in his arms, limp and dead as a gutted fish.

Agron knew and recognized the faults of those in love. 

(He was completely unwilling to do so in himself. A part of him still thought this was a passing attraction. He’d done this before at home, an omega would look at him across the firelight with their desire clear and together they’d tumble into bed.

Annoyingly, he did not just want to tumble into bed with Nasir, though he very much would like to see the omega beneath him with his head thrown back in pleasure while Agron nipped at that soft neck. He also wanted to trace the line of his face in the morning, stroke the bridge of his cheek, watch him break their fast in morning with satisfied smile. 

Whatever that meant.)

Agron knew people would die on this ridiculous quest of the Gaul’s and not only was he not going to be one of them, Nasir wouldn’t be either.

He told Crixus his lie and was satisfied with that.

~

Of course, he should have known better.

The gods had taken more than enough pleasure with fucking Agron’s life. It would make sense that the first omega to truly capture his attention would double as a righteous little shit.

Nasir told Crixus, which stung, but Nasir was a free man and Agron couldn’t blame him for voicing truth. Nasir shouldn’t have to be bound to anyone, anything, that he didn’t want.

The rescue party geared up to leave, and when Agron did not think that his life would get more shit upon, Nasir went with them.

“Fucking Syrians,” he said to the small hesitant smile on Nasir’s face.

If he’d lingered longer he would have gone too. 

~

Agron thought he knew fear, and he has. 

He spent the first few days of his and Duro’s capture by slavers snapping and biting at anyone that came too close to him or his brother. They’d drugged him with food eventually, and tied his mouth with cloth to keep him from trying to bite off any more fingers.

He was terrified for his brother, even more so at the ludus where he knew they would eventually be separated. Duro would die in the arena without him, Agron was sure. 

This was not how it came to be, but with Duro dead in his arms on the wave of Sparatacus’ revolt Agron had an even greater gaping fear. 

He did not know what to do with himself, with his brother dead.

Walking through forest to Vesuvius with those he’d once thought to abandon useless mission, Agron found reluctant purpose in self. 

Agron could not go to Vesuvius and wait. He had never been an idle man, and he would not be now, when all he could think of was Nasir and where he might be, if there was a shallow grave in the forest bearing his body.

Luckily, there was no such thing awaiting him. There was Spartacus and Mira standing bloodied and weakened, yet ready to fight in the shadows of the forest. Agron was relieved, but his heart fluttered in his chest, a caged bird, because he could not see Nasir. 

Until he did.

He knelt beside Naevia who shielded the omega with her body. She was naught but skin and bone smelling of fear and mud and sorrow, a faint tinge of Crixus’ scent that told Agron all he needed to know about the man’s fate.

He took Nasir’s chin in his hand, searched for his eyes. He found them half-closed, scent tinged with sourness of a wound, but Nasir smiled and the fear in Agron spread and dissolved into what he knew now was nothing but love, relief, a doom he’d willingly walk into. 

~

He kissed Nasir because he could not imagine going another day without doing it.

He made it soft and slow, a question, because the gods know Nasir has never been asked properly of what he wanted in life. Agron would not take that away from him, the precious gift of choice, even if it meant his affection was unattended to.

But Nasir kissed back, the slightest pressure against Agron’s lips, before he drew away.

Nasir’s face was hesitantly pleased, he smelled happier, over the lingering tang of the healing wound that Agron would see quickly dissipated.

Agron was used to fear and rage. He was not used to hope.

~

Nasir made fast friendship with Naevia, and though it meant Agron was in the company of the Gaul more frequently than he would ever fucking care for it was something he appreciated for Nasir’s sake.

Nasir was attractive to people in a way Agron was not. He was of course fair of face, symmetrical, long glossy hair, a cleverness in his eye that could easily mean companionship as it might a tongue-lashing. His scent was not overly flowery like Agron thought of many omegas, but rich and thick on the tongue, the way the mouth felt after a hearty meal.

But Nasir was not attractive just for his beauty, but his manner of being. The newer slaves flocked to him like they never did with Agron, tall and broad and smelling most of the time of irritated alpha. 

Though he was discovering that he smelled this way less and less.

It was a night of rest and revelry at the temple in shadow of Vesuvius. Agron was on edge, Crixus as well, with Romans in unknown position to them but there was little they could do to act when few were fed and rested. Agron’s kin were in need of proper training. Fierce as Saxa and Lugo might be in their warrior skills it was far from those of Spartacus and gladiators of Batatius’ ludus.

Agron leaned on column, watching Nasir rough and tumble with Saxa in a loosely formed fighting circle. The alpha was a force to be had, but Nasir had muscle on her and together they matched in speed. Their brawl had gone on for a long while, ending in Saxa’s yield, Nasir’s knee to her chest and elbow to throat.

Saxa rarely yielded to anyone, would rather go out spitting blood or breaking bone, but she laughed with Nasir and rose to clasp arms with him in victory and brotherhood.

Agron smiled under the shadow of the pillar.

“Your face remains open for all to read,” Naevia said. Agron could not hide his small jump at her presence. She was a quiet omega, padding around camp unheard. In her earlier days here, her scent stalked by a sour pain. 

She and Crixus had mated recently, how she managed to stow herself and Crixus away long enough to seal bond from prying eyes Agron could not guess, but she wore the new mark on her neck with pride, scent cleared and content. Crixus too preened everywhere he walked, his neck craned out like a fool to have anyone take a look.

Agron huffed. “My thoughts are mine alone.”

“You share them with one,” Naevia said unbothered by his gruffness. “And all would know it.”

“All would know what?” He gave her a look he hoped was feigned indifference or irritation, but Naevia was no fool, and read people better than most; his scowling did not faze her, not when she was one of the few in camp who held Nasir’s company.

“It is not a curse Agron, as you might make it seem. To hold one’s heart in your hands. Nasir is kind, his soul gentle. Do not take clumsy care of it in hands,” she said.

It was a warning, and it made his stomach roil but not in fear. He was slighted, that she would believe him capable of such savagery with the omega. Agron might pretend indifference, he was not one for constant public affections, but he worried of doubts Nasir might have whispered in her ears.

“I would take stake to own heart before thinking of hurting his,” Agron said softly, his head bowed low so she could hear.

Naevia hummed her assent, seemingly satisfied. She patted him on the arm, before nudging her chin in indication to dark eyes and smile across way. Nasir had emerged from conversation with Spartacus over cookfire, where hearty stew made from game and tubers was passed out. 

Nasir held second bowl in hand and eyed Agron with invitation. 

Agron spared Naevia none more than a glance, and headed over. He was not one to waste time.

~

For all that Nasir shared his heart and mind, they had yet to share in their bodies beyond a few heated kisses between pillars of temple.

Agron would not push for it, never ask for more should Nasir not be willing to give it. Agron knew all too well of the dealings of a dominus and their omegas, Nasir's villa still walked in dreams. Hollow-eyed slaves with scarred necks and little will for a sword.

So fierce was Nasir among them.

On the night the roman noblewoman comes, his wild little dog is fiercer than ever before.

Agron did not know what sparked such desire but Nasir was a tempest against his skin, marking Agron’s lips with nimble bites and sucks of passion. His hand made fevered path down Agron’s chest to tease at subligaria where cock was hard and aching beneath. Nasir teased at the lower skin of stomach, a promise, a venture farther than he’s ever gone before. 

The omega’s scent was thick in the air, like a meal upon tongue, Agron’s teeth ached with it. The desire to nose at neck and sink in until bond stretched bright between them.

He both cursed and thanked Mira for interruption.

She caught them giggling like boys of youth caught in kitchens stealing bread, but was gracious enough to allow them getaway to warmer beds unhindered by duty to rebellion.

Nasir was first to leave, but Agron quick to follow, catching him beyond draped curtain in the doorway of the room they’d secured for themselves in temple. 

Agron could not hold himself back cloaked in the relative privacy of their room. He fit his body against the smooth hot line of Nasir’s backside and dipped his face to that teasing neck, taking inhale he’d long denied himself.

Up close, in the spot where a mating bond would go, Nasir smelled divine as the gods. Not even Venus herself could compare, smoke and fire and berry wine. Agron could not hold back a pleased growl lingering behind his lips as he placed sucking kisses on Nasir’s neck.

Nasir turned in his arms, so abruptly Agron thought he’d made misstep, but Nasir’s eyes were dark as coals simmering. His scent was thick and heady in the air, intensified, and without a trace of bitter doubt or fear.

“Agron,” he rasped with his hands tanged behind the alpha’s neck. He placed feverish kisses on Agron’s lips, sloppy and intoxicating, shivering under Agron’s hands. 

“Speak,” Agron said. “Speak desires and have them headed.”

“You,” Nasir said between breaths, he had Agron by the belt of his subligaria pulling him back to their shared bedroll on the floor where they’d shared sleep these last few weeks, sweet, and peaceful in each other’s arms, but no more.

“I would have you Agron,” Nasir said. He’d pulled Agron down onto the bedroll where he laid back, propped up by his elbows, legs splayed open to fit Agron in close. 

Agron pressed himself up against warm soft skin without reservation but kept a watchful eye and ear for any discomfort. Agron would spare Nasir all the world’s pain could he do so, and he would despair to be cause of it.

Agron stripped himself of clothing, and rose to his knees on bedroll naked in the candlelight, his cock jutting proudly out and against his stomach. They had done so little and he was harder than stone, Agron was sure he would pop a knot in mere seconds in if he was not careful.

Agron stayed still while Nasir looked his fill, leisurely the omega traced his fingers along the sides of Agron’s thighs where his skin prickled into fire at the slightest gentle brush. Up his sides, past the muscles of his stomach and torso, to linger over his chest where Nasir spent a long moment tracing the line of his scar. 

The omega kissed it, wet and lingering, watching Agron under the sooty fall of his lashes. Agron dipped his head down so that their foreheads brushed, lips a scant distance apart, the warm caress of their breaths coming in tandem.

“I do not pray,” Agron whispered, “But I would thank the gods a thousandfold, for having given you to me.”

Nasir nudged his nose with Agron’s, drew it down Agron’s cheek. “I find myself in similar predicament. I would not question gift, for fear of having you yet taken.”

Agron growled, an unsatisfied alpha sound, the gentle teasing touches they had been bestowed on one another turned its head. Agron took Nasir’s mouth, biting, all teeth and challenge as if the gods were before him now.

“They could try, and find themselves skewered for even the thought,” he said, gathering Nasir into arms. The omega ground down in his lap in short tantalizing movements with the swell of his ass teasing just above Agron’s cock, separated only by layers of clothing. 

Agron was quick to remove when Nasir gave consent.

Agron had not yet seen the omega bared, but he was all smooth brown skin, cast into marbled gold in the dim light, his scar a healing pink stripe across his side that Agron ran over with gentle hands. Then he took hands to Nasir’s ass, fitting perfectly in his palms, the scent of his slick between cheeks more than enough to have Agron moaning.

Agron slid a finger inside, between the hard kisses they shared, reveled in the whimpering moan from Nasir while he thrusted his finger in and out.

Nasir had mouth at Agron’s jaw biting at the skin as he fucked himself back on Agron’s finger. He was eager and driving Agron to madness. Agron slipped in one more finger then another impatient as the omega was to move on.

“Agron,” Nasir begged. Every so often Agron would brush against spot inside that set the man open-mouthed and panting, digging his hands into Agron’s shoulders for leverage.

“Do not tease,” the omega pleaded.

Teasing or not Agron was past patience. He removed fingers, to line up his cock at entrance. Nasir had hands gripped on side of Agron’s neck in firm grip, pressing feverish kisses to his cheekbone, where he whispered filth and praise under breath.

Agron slid in slow, and found self in rapture.

It was perfect. Better than perfect. He would spent the rest of his life in similar embrace or die for lack of it.

For one long stretched second, they sat there, connected, with Nasir upon cock in Agron’s lap their faces pressed together as they breathed. Agron’s eyes were open, and Nasir’s as well. At the bottom of those dark pools, Agron swore he saw his end reflected back.

The alpha thrusted once to hear Nasir moan, choking on it, before he proceeded further.

It was a hard and laborious fucking, Agron was more thankful for his warrior’s prowess in that moment than he ever was on a battlefield. His strength kept himself up, kept Nasir secured in arms while they rocked back and forth together.

Nasir fucked back onto Agron’s cock, and kept Agron fixed to his mouth with a gripped hand at the back of head, tangled in his short hair. The biting kisses he left were liquid fire upon Agron’s lips, there was not a part of him that didn’t burn.

Agron could feel himself teetering against edge, and their position suddenly was not enough. Agron gathered Nasir even closer and shifted himself so that Nasir was laid flat upon back with knees pushed up against chest. Cock still firmly inside, Agron pounded in hard, eager to hear the omega’s pleasure. Nasir did not disappoint, he threw his head back onto the bed moaning wildly, leaving Agron opportunity to nose in at his neck for sweet scent and to bite as he came.

It was not a bond bite, Nasir was not in heat, but Agron could feel that ache in his teeth and gut and soul. He pushed in once before pulling out enough to prevent knotting. He was hesitant to do so with wary duties to rebellion ever at back. With his knot bumping against sensitive rim he thrusted until he felt Nasir clench with a choked whimpered cry and the omega came too, cock spurting between their bellies.

Agron was careful not to land full weight on the omega, but rather than allow the alpha to roll over Nasir pulled Agron down to his chest, moving about until he was comfortable with Agron’s torso laid over his own. The bulk of the alpha’s legs stretched out on the bed for space.

Nasir rubbed his hands through Agron’s hair, he was purring, low and shaky in his chest as if it had gone long unused but Agron could _hear_ it. It was for him.

“The gods could not best us at that,” Nasir said rather dryly.

Agron laughed so hard and so gleefully he would have fallen from their bed were Nasir not there to catch him. 

~

Vesuvius who had long served as a companion in the distance to them, the watchful eye of a guardian long set to stone. It was much more disheartening in person particularly when it seemed that death followed them like a loosed hound up her black slopes. 

Mira dead in the arms of Spartacus, the rest of them with growling bellies and shorter tempers perched on the edge of their fear. Acting foolish because they thought that this is where they would die, on this dark crag of a mountain long gone from the glory of the sands.

Mira was dead because of it.

Agron watched their leader rage, pummeling Nemetes into dirt and blood rage hot on both their faces. The stench of alpha thick in the air. Agron would have own turn at the man for his foolishness, but he was focused on Spartacus who grieved for his woman though she was not all his, and he not all hers.

Agron knew of love and loss, he had his own held within breast, but he had not had the loss of a lover in this life that he cared to mourn. 

Spartacus with blood dripping from mouth, as he addressed them all, beseeching them to reason with his fingers still trembling in loss at his side, had endured both losses in spades. Mira, not yet buried, a beta who was fiercer than half this rebel lot and Sura who lingered in every corner of every shadow.

What did it feel like? To lose a mate and feel their echo still? Is that what Crixus fought so hard for with Naevia in the clutches of the mines? To escape the state they’d seen their leader in, going on for nothing but the promise of blood and hoping that it would fill you up enough that the pain went away?

Their days on the mountain made them all hungry, made them more afraid.

Agron was afraid for Nasir, not himself.

Later, at the temple they had long called home when Spartacus speared Glaber down through the throat they cheered him on a savior. That night they picked the temple clean of its leavings to set out against Rome, more united than all the days before.

It was not Duro, that Agron thought of that night, where they ran through the forest as wolves with fangs. It was not the thought of revenge for his brother that fueled him, but Nasir at his side whooping and hissing between tree branches. His hair flew a dark flag to match the sky, sparkling as the stars did. He had a hand on Agron always and a smile to be returned.

Agron kissed him with all his heart, and could see clearly what his brothers had fought for. Lived for. He ached to take Nasir into his arms and body, and make a mark on the omega’s neck that was his. 

Theirs.

~

Spartacus took to size a rebellion beyond dream. With Agron and Crixus at his side to lead it they sweep over the Roman countryside as demons on a wild hunt, and Agron had never felt more alive; with his brothers at his side in the thick of battle, and Nasir a beacon of wrath and blood to return to when the bodies fell.

They had fallen into a life of sweetened repetition, fight and fuck, party and plan, Agron spent his days in the arms of Nasir who after months of training was as fierce as any alpha that had graced Batiatus’ ludus.

Some of the new slaves that joined their cause, particularly alphas who had been born and raised in the region, sniffed and snarled when they were thrust into training under Nasir or Naevia’s guiding hand.

But both held no sympathy for foolish posturing and were more than content to see prejudiced alphas upon ass in dirt to prove a point.

All could fight here. What did designation matter to the gaping maw of Rome that would see them all dead no matter what they were?

Agron fucked Nasir well on those days, in the well-stocked tent that had become their home. He was more than glad to see his wild little dog as master of own fate, and a master of sorts in the bedroom where he’d ride Agron dry his scent sharp and sweet.

Life, Agron learned, was not a war all around. 

It was a day and night cycle of duties and training and repetitive motions that left him exhausted, them all exhausted. In a war camp of their size there were few moments of peace for oneself, only time put into further battles who have yet to breach horizon.

Their army was joined by a midwife named Ada, who hailed from a region not far from Agron’s own. She’d long been practiced in delivering the babes of slaves in the villa she’d been sold, and followed these slaves here to where the children she held could be free. She offered her services to the many omegas that joined their cause, whether in their own fight or the companionship of their alphas. 

War, powerful it may be, did not stop people from fucking and it did not stop children from being born. 

(With the amount of pleasure that Agron and Nasir shared after the height of battle he would even say that war _enhanced_ that particular activity.) 

Thus, the need for a midwife. Spartacus was greatly indebted to her presence and often consulted with her on the matters of their growing numbers and the health of their less battle-involved followers.

She was invaluable, not just for this, but because she could stop heats.

Heats were inconceivable when you were on the move, on the warpath. Agron could not imagine it, four to five days unhinged, slave to your body in all but brand tying you there. Nothing satisfying but the company of your partner, a cock in ass, rational thought far from mind.

He’d asked Nasir once, and only once, early-on what the nature of his own heats were. Agron was more than content to assist, should Nasir so desire, and in fact longed for the possibility of the day that they might join together in deeper hot slick desire and come out tethered.

“My dominus had other preferences for me... “ Nasir had said, slow and tight-lipped. “He kept my heats from coming. He used other omegas.”

Agron had passing thought for departed Chadara and the horrors she and Nasir must have endured together.

Ada, however, had no reservations when it came to prodding at the omegas in camp for their preferences. She wanted everyone aware of her skills and services, and quickly her tent became busy with those looking for her potions in the aid of repressing heats.

Nasir did not go to her. She found him.

Agron had spoken with her often enough, in talk with Spartacus, and she knew that he and Nasir were lovers if not yet mated. One day, she came by their tent without prompt.

“Ah,” she said catching Agron and Nasir emerging from tent in early morning light. “You must be Nasir then.”

Nasir jumped, surprised. He pulled tighter at Agron’s coat that he had pulled over himself in morning’s haste. They had spent too long lingering in bed with Agron’s face buried between thighs, and were long past appointed time for duties.

“I am yes,” Nasir said, recovered. His smile for the elderly omega was genuine if slightly confused. “Your reputation precedes you Ada, you are very persistent.”

“She could lead battalion of her own if so desired,” Agron drawled.

Ada waved him off, snorting. “I have my fill of war already, task better left to you and your lot.” She reached into her satchel and pulled out a small clay pot sealed at the top with thick resin. 

“This will stop your heats if you so wish,” she said to Nasir. “I am passing it out to the camp omegas. You are welcome to take some.”

“Oh,” Nasir said, he’d stepped away from Agron’s side but not towards Ada’s outstretched offering. He eyed the path down to the training spots like it was treasured escape. “It have not taken such potions in months.”

Ada nodded. “Heat will be returning soon then.” She paused waiting for reply, but Nasir said no more, eyeing the bottle intently but did not move to grab.

Ada shrugged after a while. “It is only option. I thought to give offer. Should you desire some come see me at my tent. Agron knows location.” And she was off, down into the sea of tents her collection of pots and poultices in hand offered to those who came looking.

“Are you well, Nasir?” Agron asked. The omega was stiff-still at his side, watching Ada disappear into crowd. 

“Yes, yes,” Nasir said, waving him off. “I must tend to new warriors before Spartacus comes looking. I will go see Ada after duties are completed.”

“You don’t have to,” Agron said without thought, but the regret was quick upon tongue. Who was he to speak to Nasir’s desires? Agron would not rope him into a heat, he had no such right. As much as he dreamed of matching marks upon necks for them both, it was not for him to decide.

Never again should Nasir be absent of choice in his desire, his bed. Memories of fucking dominus lingered in them all, but Nasir more than most as body slave. Witness to atrocities of his own, of Chadara’s, all the omegas they found glaze-eyed in villa so long ago.

Nasir met Agron’s eyes. “I know,” he said plainly. “It is not requirement.”

Agron nodded, unsure of conversation and simple meaning of Nasir’s words. His scent gave nothing away, carefully restrained, long gone were the sweet notes of pleasure from morning. 

“Whatever you desire, Nasir,” was what he settled on. He would voice none of his own in this.

Nasir broke gaze, placed parting kiss upon cheek, and without word strode in opposite direction. 

~

Sinuessa was a city of high spirits but too many fucking Romans for Agron’s taste. He understood Spartacus’ orders, but he did not wholly agree with them. Agron would not mind the blood of Romans on his sword, he was as familiar to it by now as he was breathing, but he would be lying if he said he would not hesitate over the trembling body of a Roman child.

He could not say the same for Crixus, but he could not blame the man, cunt that he was.

At the moment he had more dislike for these fucking Cilicians than the Romans who remained bound in the city’s alleyways out of sight. 

The Cilicians were a collection of alphas and betas, smelling of seawater and ale, salted meat and crackers from journeys long put to water. They were liberal with their whores and more so with their cocks, Agron would put himself far from their company.

Until he found one with his arm on Nasir, the slow syrupy scent of desire filling the air as he eyed Nasir up and down.

Agron could not reign in his rage, he never had before. Why should he now when the Ciicilian shit took presumptions. The sting of his fist in Castus’ face came with a rush of teeth-gritting satisfaction and a burst of alpha’s rage he reveled in.

(Was a part of him afraid? Yes. Did he blame himself for the opening Castus saw no harm in making? Nasir had no mark upon neck, claiming a bondmate. There were not even the pockmarks of bonds not taken willingly that so many of their rebellion’s omegas were unfortunately saddled with.

Nasir was a free man, untethered by a mate. Why should the pirate not assume so? Even if Agron tried his best to mark Nasir in his scent every day, it would not stick for long, not without a bond. 

Not without a claim.)

Spartacus as always, came in time to settle tensions. But Agron could not be tamed nor timid, he stormed off with red anger behind eyes, to break apart his rage with his hands, the roar of his voice.

“I would slay all that would lay attempt to wrest you from my arms,” Agron said, because by the gods he meant it. It was the closest he had come so far to saying what he meant. What he so wanted to say, but held himself back in.

_I could not live to see you bound to another, Nasir. It would kill me. Be mine, tie yourself to me. Know that I am trapped in turn. I would never escape you. Nor would I want to._

When he took Nasir that night, hot and ravenous, it was the closest they ever came to bonding. Agron pinned the omega in place by his teeth, his arm, his thighs, so that he could not move away from his thrusts. 

He fucked him hard and deep for long hours. He made sure the whole city heard it, smelled it. Never had Nasir smelled so sweet, so satisfied. Agron laved hard kisses on the skin of the omega’s neck, he bit harder there than he ever had before, reveled in the keens that it drew from his lover.

They did not knot often, it was a pleasure that must be withheld in the name of rebellion when too often was the chance of being pulled from bed in name of retreat or battle, but this night Agron knotted Nasir twice. Once on their sides, in the first round of their fucking, with their skin paired from head to foot, there was not a part of their bodies untouched by one another. 

The second came a way’s after, with Nasir grinding slack-jawed in Agron’s lap, hands flush to the alpha’s chest for leverage. Nasir came first with bursting cry, and despite having knotted not only a few hours before, Agron could not hold himself back, tying them together, groaning deep and wild. 

Still, it was not a heat. They could not bond. And in the morning when Agron woke, with a pliant and soundly fucked Nasir snoring away on his chest, he did not wake him to ask. He did not ask when Nasir rose on his own. Agron said nothing, he rolled Nasir underneath him and fucked him again with the sun blossoming in patterns on the floor in the doorway. The scent of an omega satisfied drifting into the wind and the streets.

~

Agron was frustrated. He was, but he would not give voice to them.

It was something Duro used to grumble about. 

“That big fucking head of yours and you rarely speak your own truth, brother,” he’d say after Agron had a riff with their mother, or a nasty tumble in bed with a clingy omega, a fight with a neighboring war chieftain. 

“Have thoughts spoken, and may they pass. Do not let them linger,” he’d say, flasks of wine tossed between them by the fire as he tried so hard to make Agron smile. 

Would he do that now? Could Duro fix this? The festering ache Agron felt growing in his heart but could not root out? There were few times Duro succeeded before, Agron doubted he would have been with this. Nasir was more to him than all the petty quarrels of time long past. And this problem could not be so easily fixed.

Nasir tried, in his way. Agron too stubborn a fool to listen.

The Cilicians lingered, along with Castus, who lingered longer past his leader’s betrayal and to Agron’s eyes always in the company of Nasir. Which try as he might, he could not abide by without hackles raised, the growl of a possessive alpha taken permanent residence in his throat. 

Nasir stopped him from slitting Castus’ throat, and as much as Nasir might protest for the man’s ignorance Agron did not have it in him to care. He was tired, they were on the run, higher into the mountain range filling up with winter snow. There were too many things to worry about, and Agron could not spare his mind nor time to untangle the allegiances of the cunt who so often hung on Nasir’s arm.

(Oh and this pained his love, he could see it in Nasir’s eyes, how Agron pulled away day by day from his company. The days they shared a bed were becoming fewer and farther between after they fled Sinuessa. Agron would rather station himself for guard duty late in the night than come back to their tent where Nasir would be waiting, warm and lovely and ready to speak.

What could Agron say? He never claimed he was not a fool. 

Agron pulled away from Nasir for the sake of his own pride, his beliefs that laid staunchly firm immovable as a tree. 

Here came Castus, young and free as the ships on which he sailed. Every time Agron came in contact with him, he was too blinded by rage to make out the man’s scent. But he could smell him on Nasir sometimes on the forearm, the shoulder, no doubt a marker of a friendly clap. Castus scented of water-washed wind, spices from the ports, the lush plants from far away lands. 

These days Agron thought himself only scented in blood. 

What could he offer Nasir but that? A sure death on a battlefield one day, his body picked at by the vultures. Not tended to and cared for like he deserved, Castus could offer him true freedom, not this slow march to death in the shackles of the empire called Rome, and Agron’s fevered determination to keep on fighting.)

The nights were colder as they traveled higher into the mountains, the wind a every present whip at their backs along with the threat of Roman legions. They were miserable, all of them.

Agron more than most. He had not shed tears since Duro’s death, and even then those were more of rage than sorrow.

Yet he spent most of his nights on their way to the pass pacing the border of the camps with tears on his cheeks, prowling like a dog. All to distract himself from his breaking aching need to find Nasir, beg for his comfort and love. 

He cried then, with his gasps to the air, because he realized he could no longer smell the omega on him. So long had it been since they shared a bed. 

~

It was not as if they did not speak to one another. Agron could not deny himself that, nor could Spartacus, who often needed Nasir and Agron in the same sphere as prominent leaders of rebellion. There were things Nasir tended to that Agron would often oversee. And so on.

They were counting heads before winter storm, when Nasir led him to Castus, tied and bound among the civilians like a dog.

Agron would be more than content to leave him there.

But Nasir asked, and Agron had never and would never be able to deny him anything.

The alpha’s scent picked up in an instinctive fear-fight tang but softened into something like surprise once freed.

“Gratitude,” he said, eyes wide, rubbing the raw skin on his wrists where the rope once held.

“An action borne of Nasir’s plea. Know that absent it my blade would be slick with Cilician blood,” he said and meant it.

Nasir’s answering smile almost made him trip. 

“Do not fucking cast that look,” Agron said, more because he was flustered with full weight of Nasir’s smile upon him than anger. He had not been graced with such a look in weeks. It was long lacking.

“Agron,” Nasir said, softer this time. His scent was curled in sweetness, and a bit of apprehension that made Agron want to kneel, submit, beg until all traces of hesitance were gone from the omega’s face. 

“Would you—” He paused, seeming to gather himself. Nasir was always good with words, it was not often he lacked in things to say. Always more kind when he spoke, yet his humor was dry, he could cut a man down with clever words just as he did a spear. He never had trouble expressing himself, not for a long time now.

And never with Agron. 

“Would you share tent? And company?” he finally asked, he was looking at Agron straight on, but his fingers twitched at his side, his scent was thick with anticipation. This was an omega _afraid._

Gods, what had Agron done to him.

Agron stepped forward into intimate space, and fuck the gods he had not lost this. Nasir leant up into Agron’s bulk, his chin tipped high and his hands coming to rest on the warrior’s chest, rubbing a gentle thumb over his largest scar.

“Take me, and I will follow,” Agron husked. He could smell Nasir’s desire thick in air, rising to match his own. If they did not move quickly Agron might take him against the rock wall.

Nasir took his hand to spare them from that, instead a more comforted refuge, the shelter of his tent while not as warm as desired provided respite from wind and the privacy Agron craved to take the omega apart fully, wholly, however he could serve best.

Pulled into the cover of clothed room, Agron had Nasir by the hips, wasted no time in drawing him in close. 

For a moment he did just that, a long embrace with Agron’s nose tucked into the hollow of Nasir’s neck where scent was strongest. It had been too long, too long since they had been so close like this. 

“Agron,” Nasir pleaded. He had his hands in Agron’s hair, scratching down to his nape in needy plea. It was one of his tells, as was the scent that filled the room blocking even the overpowering snow and wind. Here, in their own quiet bliss, for a moment all was forgotten.

Agron would not ruin it with words.

He leaned back just enough to slot their lips together, swallowing whatever else Nasir had to say. The omega did not protest, but sighed, happy and guided Agron down to his bedroll pushed in farthest corner of tent where it was warmest. 

With Nasir on his back Agron slipped into the space between warm thighs where already Agron could feel wetness. He growled, pleased, and drunk on all feeling.

Nasir reached for subligaria, panting into Agron’s mouth, who sucked and bit with fervor. 

“Please, Agron, please—” he was begging.

“Yes, anything,” Agron said. Nasir had pulled out his cock, not even bothering to pull down rest of clothing. It was far too cold anyway.

“Let me,” Agron said once he too had bared Nasir enough, and cock placed teasingly at entrance. He was far too desperate for anything more. 

“Yes, yes,” Nasir said, then swallowed, seeming to gather himself. “I missed you.”

Fuck the gods, Agron could not breathe for his heart breaking. He thrusted in hard, to muffle the sound, and turned it to pleasure instead, Nasir’s neck craning back in a tempting curve.

Agron pounded in hard, quick. He was taking what he could, and some would call him a greedy lover for it, but Nasir clung to him with just as much need his nails making red marks into the bared skin of Agron’s back that peaked through furs.

Agron brought up Nasir’s thigh with hand to rest higher on his hip for better leverage, allowing him to sink in further, fuck harder, enough that Nasir let out a growling cry that Agron swore the gods could hear.

Good, let them.

He was close, too close, but Nasir was here in his arms kissing him blind with lust and love making pleads for “yes”, “more”, “fuck”, “harder”. He was warm and slick and Agron was surrounded with the scent of a cooking fire on a summer’s day. It felt like home.

Agron grunted, he could feel knot forming, but could not tie themselves together tonight. He pulled out enough to prevent, and Nasir reached down to squeeze, while Agron came, groaning.

Nasir bore down, while Agron emptied himself hushing sweet things into Agron’s ear. And when Argon could breathe again, his vision unclouded, did he rise to meet Nasir’s eye.

Darker than the sky, the sea, warmer than all by a thousand suns were Nasir’s eyes. Nasir raised a hand to Agron’s cheek and stroked there.

Agron leaned in for a long as he could bear, before shuffling down Nasir’s lean frame, where he took cock in mouth, hand to ass, and made him scream for pleasure. 

~

In the months that pass their brush with the winter Agron and Nasir go to bed with one another many times.

Spring brought with it thawing tempers and minds. They were on the run, the retreat, as they always seemed to be but it was better when the wind at your back was warm caress rather than biting chill.

Agron spent the waning watery mornings of spring with Nasir in his tent, fucking him slow and good and perfect. It was the best and worst torment to do so, though long gone were their arguments over one unfortunately lingering Cicilian, Agron felt as unmoored as he was months ago unsure of where to speak on his heart.

Still, he found good moments in between his musings.

It was a celebratory night, reminiscent of days past in temple by Vesuvius, even the days at Batiatus villa where the men drank and laughed and swapped stories of glory over company. Their hunting parties had been blessed this day, and most of the camp satisfied on full bellies of hare and boar. And more importantly a tossed cart on side of road laden with casks of wine.

Spartacus’s generals had come far from their unrestrained revelry and whoring, and in the late hour had positioned themselves around the cookfire, watching their rebellion of freedmen take heart to new heights, their lovers in laps, their friends shoulder to shoulder.

Agron sat with back rested against fallen tree, Nasir sat behind him, with one leg pressed against Agron’s side. They had wine in grip, but occasionally Nasir’s free hand drifted over to play with the hair at base of neck, as did Agron’s fingers play with the fine-bone of Nasir’s ankle. A simple, soothing touch, hellos spoken in skin.

Out from the revelry beyond their small circle came Gannicus, with his arm around shoulder of young boy Agron had seen few times in recent training. Vitus, was his name. He was of Nasir’s age maybe, an alpha, and former tender of horses’ in his dominus’ villa. He was a quick learner when it came to swordplay, and Gannicus had taken it under himself to instruct Vitus best he could.

“Come sit, Vitus, there is wine and good company,” Gannicus said to the boy, who was more than wide-eyed at the prospect of taking company with Spartacus and his senior rebels. When he hesitated, Gannicus gave him kick to the shin, and with a yelp the boy settled on the edge of closest log alongside Spartacus who gave him warm smile.

“You have talent with a sword Vitus,” Spartacus said, eager to make the boy comfortable. The line of Vitus’ shoulders settled at kind words and a blush upon his pale cheeks. “You prove yourself brave and worthy to cause.”

“I only do as commanded,” Vitus said. “Gladly so, in aid of rebellion against Rome.”

Crixus from where he sat across fire with Naevia settled in his lap raised his cup. “May it burn and smolder.”

A round of hums and cheers of concurrence followed toasting, before digging into wine and food again. Lugo passed Vitus a bowl of thick stew, better than they’ve all had in months which the boy took graciously.

“You have family, swordsman?” Lugo asked him jovially.

“Ah,” Vitus said around his stew. “A husband, and child yes. They have made camp further down.”

“Bring them here,” Gannicus said. “We would see them in good company and sustenance.”

Vitus shook his head kindly. “My Theron is content to work in the shadows. He is… shy and spends days watching children of those who must work including our son. I think he might faint in face of such giants.”

Crixus snorted, “Do not fear Vitus, not all in company cast such long shadow, right Agron?”

Agron growled, leaning forward from relaxed position to bare teeth at smug fucking Gaul. “Shut mouth before I introduce you to shadow of fucking ground.”

Crixus tensed up, ready to spring, before Naevia slapped him hard on the chest in almost same moment Nasir did Agron’s shoulder.

“Fools,” she said. “Leave each other be, lest Vitus think us barbarians.”

“More like the children his omega cares for,” Nasir said with a lingering pinch to Agron’s shoulder.

Vitus laughed, “No, no, they are much more mild mannered.”

Spartacus chuckled into his wine. “I do not doubt it.”

“Do you have children?” Vitus asked innocently.

Gannicus coughed over his wine and Crixus made a twisted face at the question aimed to the Bringer of Rain. It was not something they ever asked. Sura was a wide open wound across the chest of their leader, deeper than any ravine and just as dangerous. The bondmark on Spartacus’ neck was bared to them all plain as day, and though it had been a long while since Sura died it had not yet faded. 

Spartacus though, was not cruel. He blinked before answering in stride. “No, I do not. That time for me is… long passed. Though I did once dream of it.”

Vitus hummed, satisfied before looking to Gannicus, who chortled into his drink.

“I have no sons or daughters to my name, not ones I have laid eyes upon,” he said.

“Relations with Sibyl speak to otherwise,” Agron teased, a smirk upon his face. “It becomes hard to take rest anywhere near your lodgings.”

“Shut up, fool.” Gannicus threw cup of wine his way but Agron dodged, only for drink to stain soil. The Celt groaned to the laughter of others. Agron was not wrong, Gannicus had not strayed far from the bed of the pretty omega, a far fry from his famous prolivities. It seemed he had found a home too amongst them all.

Vitus was smiling, glad to have companions in good spirits. He turned back to his food. “Children are a blessing, should any of you wish for them I pray the gods show you favor. If rebel generals can herd us, a child or two should be no obstacle.”

Spartacus smiled at that, before launching into conversation with Gannicus on preserving some of the meat from day’s bounty. Agron leaned back into Nasir, but noticed him stiffer than he’d been before.

Agron turned head to catch the omega’s eye but he was looking at Naevia and Crixus who were speaking in low tones amongst themselves. There seemed nothing amiss among them, in fact the bonded pair smelled of a tentative hopeful happiness like wildflowers after a spring rainfall. 

“Nasir?” Agron prodded gently, a hand on the omega’s shin. 

Nasir startled, looking away from the pair, blinking a few times like he was washing away fog from vision. His scent was tinged in the slightest bitterness. It made Agron’s hairs stand up.

“Drink, Agron,” he said through a smile removing himself from Agron’s side to stand. “I must relieve myself, stay and enjoy company.”

He left as if fire were at back, Agron sprawled on the forest floor looking after him. 

When Agron turned back to his comrades they were embroiled in their own debates, but Naevia’s gaze lingered on where Nasir once sat, then passed over Agron. The glint in her eyes not one he could discern but did not like.

~

They had become so divided it seemed that their army must split, but Agron was grateful it a genial parting. He did not want to abide by any more arguments between Spartacus and the fucking Gaul. There were too many things at risk to fall into rivalries long past.

Their parting festivities were wilder than ever before, with wine and sex to be had across all rooms of villa and out beyond it. The air stank of the lust of alphas and omegas and betas alike. Still, Agron could not part from pillar where he rested, hidden in shadow of joyous celebration.

He did not have cause to do so himself. He knew where he would be tomorrow, and he did not want to put it to words.

Yet, there came Nasir, slipping through crowd his face light with the energy around them. And when he gave Agron a cup, to share in the lightness, the parting of brethren, his face hesitant in hope, Agron thought he might die from what he had to say.

Nasir handed him the cup and Agron broke both their hearts in the process.

~

The next morning what is left of Agron and Nasir’s love was exchanged in a glance across clearing, between the moving bodies of those set for departure.

Agron had not gone to the omega’s bed that night, but stayed outside the villa with head to the stars, unable to sleep.

He’d known that if he’d gone to Nasir he would break in resolve. He was a weak man, and with one slight touch, one more gentle plea, Agron was not sure he could follow the Gaul out and away from here.

But he had to, there was no other choice. Agron did not know what to do with himself without a sword in hand, a battle to rally behind, and he would ask Nasir to bind himself to a man without purpose. He would not ask Nasir such a thing at all, no matter how much Agron wanted it. The alpha in him _knew_ already.

He followed Crixus to Rome away from this baser nature. Far away, and with him likely dead, Nasir would be unhindered in all his endeavors.

Freedom was what the omega deserved. 

~

They were within grasp of Rome, a day or two off, but the smell of it had picked up with the wind and carried over to Crixus’ horde. A city of that size smelled of shit and piss, the sweat of people and food, none of those Roman roses or imported orange peels that those cunts liked to slather everything in as a guise.

It was the stench of people they’d come to slaughter. 

In the night the camp was wild with the scent, howling and crying and fucking. They celebrated with their boots still bloody from the battles of the day.

Agron did not join them. He sat in the periphery of these celebrated fires, sipping on the wine they liberated with a small smile on his face for the joy spread through the air. He was not impervious to all their joy, but he could not bring himself to revel. 

He caught the scent of her before she sat, the tang of pomegranates, cool stone, oil used in hair. Naevia sprawled herself opposite him on the ledge where Agron sat, drinking from own cup.

“Rome is in sights,” she said, lips on the rim.

Agron nodded. He’d set own drink on floor in favor of tangling nervous hands together. He held folded fingers together over his mouth. 

“You will find the prized glory you and Crixus seek,” he said, voice muffled.

“Is there not a prize for you here?” she asked. 

A prize. What prize was Agron offered from hands of former masters? Nothing he could take and be satisfied with. He came here not for what Crixus sought. Or Naevia and the thousands of other slaves rioting for vengeance. 

He could have done so, for Duro. That fire burned low in his gut still, the grief the guilt, he doubted it would ever be eased. But he could not focus on such, when all thoughts were of Nasir.

“I am here, in whatever you may need Naevia,” he settled on. A simple enough answer with a grain of truth he could follow to whatever end Crixus led them.

She studied him. Head cocked, the flames of the nightfires playing over his slender face. Then she said, “You are not needed here, Agron.”

He could not hold back his snarl, the scent of slighted alpha rising. “I am worth ten of these common warriors following in your stead,”

“You are worth more,” she said, calm, cool as water. Her scent, her face did not waver in his aggression. “Yet you are not needed.”

“You know where you should be, Agron,” she said, sighing. She came to her feet to make her leave.

“The only reason I have not removed cock from body is because I fear Nasir would strike me down from leagues away. You left him not for his benefit, but your own.”

The truth spoken so plainly settled worse in his ear than it did in heart, where it had long festered for weeks journey.

“I could not tie him to me any longer. He deserved better than that.” Agron croaked, hands shaking. Nasir was safe. The omega was likely beyond the craggy hills of the northern territories on the way to mountains and freedom. It had been long enough, maybe ache of separation had alleviated and he had found bed with Castus. Thought made stomach roil, but Nasir deserved it, whatever happiness he may glean from those who flocked his way. The sun and light that he was.

“No, he deserved you,” Naevia said, lip curled up in slightest snarl. Her scent was sharp with restrained anger. “He deserved option of choice, that you took. He would have chosen you, whether you had taken charge with Spartacus or us. You are so blind Agron, to the thing you most wish to see.”

She whipped around and strode off into the dark, leaving Agron by fire, shaking, cheeks wet and eyes watering.

~

He fell, and did not die. But he would wish he did.

Caesar loomed over his body, flung at the base of cross, and spit poison into the air satisfied with himself. 

Agron would not give Caesar the gift of his fear. 

They nailed him to the cross, and he screamed. He could not hold that back.

Agron had many regrets, he could fill the sea to the bottom with them. But, as they strung him up with the whisper of death in the camp, circling his body like a dog trained to bloodied flesh, this was not one of them. 

When he died, Nasir would not feel the break of a bond between them.

Some pains could be spared it seemed.

(But not outweighed.)

~

Agron could not see much beyond the swelling of his eyes, the persistent aching of his palms, though he’d admit he was starting to lose feeling in them. 

As Spartacus carried him back to camp with the hundred others they’d made deal for, he caught wind of Nasir’s scent as he approached. He did not need eyes to see it. 

He wanted to weep, and his lip wobbled when he felt that gentle familiar hand upon cheek, Nasir finally visible to him.

Nasir looked as wrecked as he felt, his eyes brimming with tears. His scent sharp with sorrow and relief, happiness soured and elated in turn. There were too many emotions between them to put to name.

They did not speak beyond initial greeting, Agron did not think he had further strength to. Nasir guided him back to tent and laid him down in the softness of bedding, scented deeply of Nasir.

He must have whined with the relief and comfort, but he had long closed eyes to outside reaction. He felt a kiss upon brow, and murmur of gentle reassurance before he fell to darkness, the curl of a soft body against his side a tether to the waking world from dreams.

~

Nasir was not in company when he woke. But Ada was.

The old omega was standing in the center of tent by raised table, the surface littered in bits of cloth rope and long strips of what he thought were wood pieces.

“Do not move,” she said when Agron tried to rise. Sitting was an exercise in strength, his arms trembled, his fingers shook like dry leaves. His ribs bruised and ached in time with his breathing. 

“You should be for the afterlife. Raise hands,” she instructed.

She hummed as he did, bending down to study the straightness of his fingers and how the wobbled mid air. She tapped the side of his forearm lightly with her finger to see his reaction, and though it made him gasp, skin sensitive all over, his hands did not fall from position.

“Good,” she said and he let them fall, breathing hard. “The damage is not the worst I have seen. You will regain some sense of them.” The look she shot him next was shrewd. “If you take time to heal.”

“He will.”

Nasir was at opening of tent. By the gods he was a sight, Agron could not appreciate it in full form last night, but the omega was light at the end of all days. This morning he had his hair loose over shoulders, and dark circles under eyes. He had not slept, or had not been for a while. Yet his eyes were sharpened with renewed purpose.

“I would strap him down, if need be,” Nasir said coming to stand by table where he looked over cloth and strips of wood.

“You need only strap his fingers to boards. Keep them straightened, not curled,” Ada said, handing off what Agron guessed were completed contraptions he was to be binded with.

“Thank you, Ada,” Nasir said nodding.

She waved him off, before shuffling out of tent into busy camp.

They were alone.

“Give me your hands,” Nasir demanded. He would not meet Agron’s eye, but kept gaze low upon bared chest or on wood in hands.

Agron lifted his hands in offering, unsure of where to go forward, what to say. He was struck of tongue or thought or sense. The air between them was stifled as if had never been before. Gone was the ease with which they held one another, the love that bloomed clean and true like a current of a river.

Maybe Nasir had moved on, and this was his kindness extended far as it could go. The omega would wish no ill-will upon Agron, he would care for him in act of past fondness shared, and once Agron was treated return to Castus or whatever alpha he had taken bed with.

Nasir took hold of Agron’s pointer finger, cupping gently as one would an egg. Even now with Agron’s heart mashed in grip he was tender. It was more than he deserved.

But, Nasir’s own hands were not so steady. He tried tying wood and string in place, but fumbled, once, twice, the third time Agron pulled his hands away and though it sent shocks of fire through his arms he set them on Nasir’s bare shoulders.

“Nasir,” he begged, what for he did not know. “Nasir, please.”

The omega jumped up from where he knelt, shooing Agron from touch, but for the first time since the night had passed _looked_ at him. Tears flowed freely down his face, and what an angry one it was.

“Do you understand, Agron?” he said. “Do you understand how angry I am?”

The tent was _thick_ with the smell of the omega anger. Like fire burning hot in the hearth, scorching. 

“I wanted to grant you choice—” Agron started, but Nasir made sound of fury that stopped him. 

“What choice?” Nasir screamed at him, raw in the back of his throat, the words broke on his anguish. “You speak of giving me choice Agron, this is your defining factor, yet I am provided with _none._ The decisions you made about us, the most important decisions, I was not included in.”

Nasir tugged on a handful of his hair, frustrated.

“I would have gone with you. I said this. I would follow you to the ends of the world, no matter the trials we may face.” He laughed, tinged in tears and hysteria. “I wanted to bond with you Agron. I wanted life and family with you. Even in death we could not be parted.”

Agron was trying not to swallow tongue, thick and dumb in his mouth. There it was spread finally between them.

This was what Nasir wanted. What he wanted.

He’d denied _both_ of them of it _._

“Nasir,” he said, choked on tears. “I did not want you bound, not when—” He swallowed. _Gods_ his heart, was it breaking yet again, stitching together? This was the wound that never healed, love flayed him open and left him bleeding and yet he’d fight to keep it. 

“I thought you might find happiness beyond me, with Castus or whomever caught your eye,” he spat the words from mouth like coals upon tongue. “You are young Nasir, you have many years left for wanting. I would not have had you waste them on me.”

“They are _mine_ to waste,” Nasir hissed, furious. “And they would not be wasted with you. Never. Do not do me the dishonor of labeling them so.”

“Nasir—”

“No,” the omega said. He’d stepped close to Agron, in between the spread of the alpha’s legs from where he sat. It was the first they’d touched this morning, the first since Nasir had left early in morning. Agron wanted to touch him, but _could not_ with his hands so raw and open. 

But Nasir reached down and took Agron by the wrists and lifted him, tenderly, gingerly, and placed Agron’s hands light as a feather on the curve of his hips. Bright sparks of pain ran up his hands from touch but Agron gritted teeth and bore it, he would bear worse because he was touching Nasir again. Nasir was letting him do it. 

“You do not have the pleasure of making my choices for me, Agron,” Nasir said. He’d taken his hands to Agron’s neck and was dragging them up, slowly, to cup his cheeks. His words were firm and final but his face was softer than it had been before.

“I would choose you, no matter what you might wish,” Nasir said, voice soft and lilted like a song.

Agron sucked in rough breath and leaned to rest their foreheads together.

“There is no other choice in the world I would make, except to be beside you,” Agron croaked. His fingers twitched on the omega’s hips, eager to rub circles into the bare skin. He wanted to map Nasir all over, in mission of reconciliation. Even if they mated, he did not think they could be close enough for his tastes.

“I have been a fool, of the worst kind. And it has caused you pain,” Agron said. “Pain was the last thing I wanted for you, but I thought it was best. I see now my error.”

“Nasir—” His voice cracked, holding back his tears. Nasir laughed wetly, and smoothed his thumbs down cheek in soothing gesture. “I would ask your forgiveness, and you love if it is still yet offered. This is all that I desire, nothing else would sate me.”

Agron had not even yet finished when Nasir kissed him, hard and bruising, they almost toppled over with force of it. He surged with equal passion to meet his lover, equal relief. When kisses slowed into familiarity Agron released himself to tuck head into crook of Nasir’s neck. He laid soft nips on the skin, taking in every greedy gasp the omega gave. 

Nasir smelled of so many things, changed in variation, but it always was _home_ to him.

“I have forgiven you,” Nasir whispered, running hands through hair. He pressed kiss to temple and brought Agron up to meet eyes. 

“There is no one else, Agron. No one, when I pass from this world I will be a shade in your name only. The only name to come from my lips in love or light or even anger.” He kissed Agron firm and true. “I would not love you, without all your misgivings. And you for mine. I only hope that we learn from them.”

~

Spartacus died with the Alps in sight, the mountain pass stretched before them in a beckoning, but the Bringer of Rain could not go, would not go. It tore Agron’s heart to see his brother so fallen, but he understood the ease of going.

Too long had Spartacus been from his mate. Sura he would meet on the other side.

Agron would take his own love, and make a life together as free men, of which so many had died for.

It pained them all, knowing so few left of Spartacus’s rebellion remained, but they were a lucky few and would not linger in sadness but live on in memory of their fallen. There was new life too to be had, here. Vitus, his omega Theron, and their young son were one of the lucky few that survived. Laeta, Sibyl, Belesa, Ada. There were friends among them yet. Family. They were too bonded now to part from one another.

They passed into the mountains the rocks high and mighty, the trees around them flush with the green of summer. The children ran the slender path, giggling, chasing, happy and carefree. 

Agron and Nasir watched their ragtag group from rocky outcrop at head of party, Nasir’s head resting on Agron’s shoulder. Vitus held his young son up by the armpits, swinging him forward and back as they walked. Theron watched from behind, a slow easy smile on face.

Agron could not stop contented smile of his own, especially when Nasir nuzzled into his side, eyes lingering fond on the family. 

Yes, there was sorrow to be held. But life too. 

  
  


~

It happened in the dawnlight.

It was early enough that sun had yet to creep across horizon, yet the sky had begun it’s daily lightening, a dark muted blue covered them all as they slept. Then Agron was awoken. 

“Agron. Agron.” The whispers came from the dark, in frantic voice.

“What—” Agron rolled over in instinctive reach for sword but was met with hand to chest, keeping him from moving. A dark framed face stared at him in the dark. Nasir, half risen in their bedroll. He smelled different.

“Agron,” Nasir whispered. Agron could barely see his outline, and was only calm but for cadence of voice and familiarity of scent. 

“Nasir, are you—” Oh. _Oh._ The omega had curled arms upon Agron’s chest, nosing into his neck with soft keening. His scent popped with thick sweetness.

Agron was hard in a mere moment, though he wished that for their first heat they would have made it to proper shelter.

“I would have given you more comfort in this,” Agron said into Nasir’s skin, pressing sloppy wet kisses down his jaw. 

“I care not,” Nasir panted. “I have you.” Agron growled, cock throbbing. It was that simple between them. It always was. What did it matter where they were or what they did, if they were within arm’s reach.

They rose quickly, treading lightly upon ground as to not disturb their sleeping companions. They passed standing guards, Belesa and Vitus and to Agron’s surprise, Laeta, who was sitting on damp Earth speaking in low tones with them both. They all looked up as Agron and Nasir came walking, concerned, but expressions morphed into one of pleased understanding.

Laeta smiled at them both and said, “Take time needed. We can linger here yet for few days. Ada will come by with provisions in later hours.”

Agron inclined head for gratitude, and followed Nasir into the deeper forest where the omega had already made dash for, too drawn into heat for polite pleasantries.

The mist of the morning morphed into a drizzle, and it clung to their skin, moist and fresh with the taste of summer. The forest around them sang with it. Agron chased his omega through the trees, laughing as they darted between the brush, until with burst of speed he had Nasir pressed with back to large tree, their mouths locked. 

Agron moved from Nasir’s lips once properly reddened, to lick droplets off Nasir’s neck. 

Nasir _whined,_ fingers scrabbling at back and leaving red grooves. A marker of his own, by the end of this there would be more between them.

“Agron, I cannot—please. Do not make me wait, not now.” The omega’s pleas were almost as sweet as he smelled. His heat scent differed, not so much salt or smoke, instead it smelled as an orchard did. Figs and lime late in the season, sizzling with honey on the tongue. 

Agron reached a hand down between Nasir’s legs to stroke at his cock. He pulled quick and firm, coming up to thumb over the head where Nasir was wet already. But he could not linger there for long, his hands cramping with pain of lingering injury. He hissed and pulled away. 

He growled, frustrated, but Nasir had tugged him back in with a comforting purr, his lips lush and wet as he peppered face in kisses.

“All is well, all is well.” He repeated words as mantra. Nasir dripped words of honeyed filth into Agron’s ear while he reached behind self and slipped fingers in opening. Agron could smell his slick, heady and sweet. He ached to taste it, but Nasir was already pulling two fingers from self and turned around to press face against bark. 

“Come on, come on, come on,” the omega babbled, his legs spread.

Agron could do nothing but obey, and pressed front against the smooth line of Nasir’s back. 

His cock nudged against opening, Nasir reached back to grab Agron’s ass and pull him in closer. Then, Agron slid inside.

It was familiar but not, Agron had spent long days before this inside the omega, but by the gods this was different. He was slicker and tighter somehow, everywhere they touched it burned so greatly it bordered on pain, but Agron could not be parted from him. Nasir was his.

Agron rolled his hips in sharp thrust, groaning at the rough drag, reveling in the whine it drew from Nasir’s throat, growing in pitch as Agron fucked in faster, harder.

It was so easy, so slick, Agron ached to grab Nasir by hips and pound in faster but he could not. He kept hands in gentle rest at top of thighs, teasing at sensitive skin. It was good still, so good, Nasir squirmed and whined and fucked himself back on the alpha’s cock eyes screwed tight in pleasure.

Agron licked and sucked at the omega’s neck, leaving dark kiss-bruises in the skin. These were his marks, he would make as many as he dared with mouth, while he fucked in with his cock to leave ache there. He would have Nasir satisfied, and with way Nasir’s head lolled against shoulder his mouth open as he moaned, Agron thought himself succeeding. 

“Agron, I’m, _yes_ , Agron please—” Nasir clenched down, and fucked back harder into Agron’s thrusts. He was upon edge, and Agron could feel the beginnings of his knot swelling, a hot burning pleasure at the base of his spine. 

“Yes, Nasir. Take it, I’m here. I’m here.” Where his fingers brushed over soft skin of the omega’s thighs, he dared bring them closer to Nasir’s cock, just the barest brush and the omega _came_ with warbling cry, squeezing tight. 

His head lolled to side and Agron nosed in at tender spot on neck just below ear and bit as he came, his knot filling and tying them together. He spilled in long wet bursts, Nasir rocking back, catching all, rolling his hips until even he was too sensitive for more. 

Only then did Agron guide them to the ground, tied, where they rested in the shadow of tree, Agron with his back to the trunk, curled around Nasir in protective getsure. Soon, they would have to find more suitable shelter, a cave perhaps. Maybe Ada would bring them something.

Nasir turned in arms best he could, his eyes were glazed over with heat but he was sated for now, leaning in to give Agron lingering kiss. He eyed glaringly empty space on Agron’s neck compared to the omega’s neck, bruised with imprint of Agron’s mark.

Agron rumbled low in his chest, a soothing sound and gave Nasir’s bottom lip a playful bite. 

“Come now, Nasir. Afraid?” he taunted, all too eager. That fear was long behind them. 

Nasir’s lip curled, just the slightest before surging in with punishing kiss. Agron took it through his laughter, and when Nasir nosed at his neck Agron leaned back to let him in and gasped as Nasir bit down. The bond singing between them. Clear, good, right. 

  
  


~

By the time they reached the borders of Agron’s homeland summer was in the swing of heat. They were long weary from traveling, but the fields and the forests tickled at memory. Agron knew where he was. He had run these paths as a child, his mother had led him down the deer trails, and he had led Duro.

He was born in this place, he would like to die here too.

Not a day’s travel into the area and a hunting party came upon them in the dusk, the sky a bold orange at their heads. Agron had gotten better with a sword as the months had dragged on, but he was shaky at best in battle, and his hands were prone to painful tremors. Still, he and Nasir held front of party when the whooping figures emerged from trees with shields and spears at front. 

They were surrounded, but Agron held head up and greeted them without fear.

He had taken just one step forward, when a woman emerged from behind of group. They parted for her in smooth sinuous movement, she commanded respect from them. Her hair was dark, streaked with strands ash-gray of age, but she was beautiful. Her eyes sparkled like grassfield after a rainfall, like Agron’s own.

His mother stepped forward until she was arms length from him and Nasir, who stood at his side, spear still at ready, but less tense. He could scent Agron’s mother’s disbelief, her hope, her sadness.

She raised a hand to Agron’s cheek, and only when he let her, leaning into touch, did she finally smile through a choked laugh. 

“My son,” she breathed in disbelief, then tugged him into embrace. Agron was stiff and unsure, but soon melted into her touch, pushing nose into her shoulder with eyes closed. The world had slowed, and his body ached with tiredness, but his mother was holding him, and Nasir a warm line at his side.

When she pulled away she looked immediately to Nasir, curious. She could smell their bond no doubt, and the protective way of which they circled each other was as blatant and bright as the sky above them.

Agron all but confirmed it, snaking hand around Nasir’s waist. “Mother,” he said with his head tilted just so, where the mating bond showed. “This is Nasir.”  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Naevia is such a badass, and I love the idea of her and Nasir being best friends. Hence her always yelling at Agron for being stupid.
> 
> Come visit me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/1derspark)! 
> 
> And as always comments and kudos are appreciated and feed the beast!


End file.
